


Local Shadowrunner Spits Wine at Great Dragon

by rowmaster



Category: Shadowrun
Genre: Non-Binary OC, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 23:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowmaster/pseuds/rowmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harlequin brings Hunter Low to a fancy party, and exactly what everyone expects happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Local Shadowrunner Spits Wine at Great Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lil' dumb thing I wrote of my oc, Hunter, that I ship with Harlequin. Inspired by a conversation with my friend.

Hunter didn’t belong in this kind of society. The political, important, society. With nice suits, fake smiles, and metaphorical daggers behind their backs. Though the daggers could be real, that wouldn’t really surprise Hunter at all.

Hunter was dragged out by Harlequin, who insisted that if he had to come, then so did his squire. Hunter asked Frosty couldn’t come, as she was a bit more suited for the lifestyle. He replied that Frosty was his protégé, not squire. Hunter rolled their eyes.

If anything, Hunter was more like his date, but they could see why he wouldn’t want to openly admit that. Hunter was a mortal elf, a shadowrunner, and a small being in a room filled with people much larger than them - and it sucked, but Hunter understood why their relationship couldn’t be public. Weakness, embarrassment, scandal… or whatever you wanted to call it. Hunter understood. They didn’t like it, but they understood.

Hunter had resigned themselves to stick near the walls and preferably near the table with the food. ‘Horderves’, or whatever it is these rich people called it. They felt out of place here, but thankfully the expensive dress and the caked on makeup helped them blend in. Harlequin had given them a crash course in socialite etiquette but Hunter couldn’t really follow along to the man’s inane rambling. Hunter doubted any of these people would truly be interested in discussing fashion or entertainment. They figured most of the guests were like Harlequin, old and unbelievably powerful. They hoped they could simply fade into the background and enjoy the weird looking food and wine.

Of course, that was all blown to hell as a human man with long, steel grey hair approached them. He was smiling, a cold smile, and with the golden eyes it looked sinister. Lofwyr, Hunter thought. Harlequin spoke of him.

“Good evening,” he said, holding his hand out. Hunter’s eyes darted around, looking to see if anyone was watching as a great fucking dragon was extending his hand towards Hunter, a pathetic shadowrunner. “I believe you are the one Har'lea'quinn brought with him, yes?”

And, damn, maybe it was the wine and nerves, but Hunter set down the glass and took his hand. “Uh, yeah that’s right,” they said, rather dumbly. Lofwyr raised their hand and kissed the back of it and Hunter was stuck between ‘whoa, smooth’ and 'oh my god a great dragon just kissed my hand’.

“Ms. Foster, right? I heard he brought his 'squire’ or something along those lines,” the great dragon said, releasing Hunter’s hand so Hunter could return to fondling the glass of wine like it was a long lost lover.

“Uh, no. It’s Hunter Low. Mx. Hunter Low,” they said quickly, head shaking in refusal and swimming from the wine. Whoa, slow down on the wine, don’t get wasted in front of Lofwyr. “Fros—, um, Ms. Foster is his protégé. I am his squire. He insists there’s a difference.”

Lofwyr chuckled and paused, looking away from Hunter with a slight smile. “He’s a complete and utter fool,” he said bluntly. “You have my condolences.”

Hunter looked away, awkwardly. He remained standing in front of Hunter, probably waiting for a conversation or something but what was Hunter supposed to do? How do you talk up a damn dragon? Luckily, their entire day and soul was saved when Harlequin came rushing in, his hand grabbing around Hunter’s shoulder.

“Hunter, my dear! There you are.” Harlequin looked over to Lofwyr, like he just now noticed he was there. “And Lofwyr! Why, all my favorite people are here. Almost. Now we just need Ehran and it’ll be a grumpy little festival.” 

Lofwyr smiled, a stretched and forced smile filled with contempt. “Har'lea'quinn.”

Harlequin’s smile didn’t falter but his eyes… sparkled, perhaps as he leaned lightly against Hunter. “So, what were you two chatting about? Was it me? My ears were burning and you know big these bad boys are.”

Hunter groaned and went back to taking a nice, long sip of wine. They didn’t notice when the servant stepped up, tapping on Harlequin’s shoulder.

“Mx. Hunter Low and Mr. Harlequin Low? I have-”

A red mist came spewing out of Hunter’s mouth as the words, the names, hit their ears. And it shocked them so badly they didn’t immediately notice the shocked great dragon who had been in the line of fire.

Their head snapped to Harlequin who was staring back between the servant (who now had fear in their eyes) and Hunter, whose face was burning. His mouth was left agape and if you looked closely, you can see a faint pink blush rising beneath his thick makeup. The painted elf looked like he didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or to stand in horror, and as his eyes darted over to Lowfyr, his expression leaned much more on the horror side.

Hunter quickly looked over to Lofwyr who was standing dumbly, with a blank expression that was stained in wine. Hunter fell back slightly, hand reaching for Harlequin’s arm and hanging on to it like a life line. They couldn’t speak, lips mouthing ’oh my god’ over and over. This is it, this is where Hunter dies. Fuck the Horrors, fuck the Black Lodge. They were going to die here, now, at the hands of a wine-stained dragon in the middle of a party while holding on to an elf painted as a clown. They leaned over to Harlequin and spoke in a low pitch wine, “What the hell, Harlequin.”

For once, Harlequin was at loss for words. “I, uh,” he started, unable to take his eyes off Lofwyr, who continued to stand in silence. “I had put our names down like that for a joke but I…. forgot.” The entire party had stopped and were staring at the pair.

“You forgot.”

Harlequin nodded, finally taking his eyes off the stained great dragon and looked down at Hunter with the sorriest expression he could manage. Hunter wasn’t satisfied and was ready to retort when Lofwyr held his hand up, the other wiping a drop of wine off his brow.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” he began. He didn’t appear mad but Hunter knew he couldn’t possibly be okay with that. “I thought you were his squire, not his spouse.”

Oh god. Hunter cringed. There goes the big secret. What was going to happen? Oh god, people were staring at them. Ehran was there too, standing shocked at this display. Hunter was about to speak up, denying it, when Harlequin shrugged.

“Marriage ain’t my thing, Lofwyr, you should be able to guess that. But ‘Harlequin Low’ does sound nice. Almost like poetry.” He smiled, tilting his head to rest his cheek on top of Hunter’s head as if he was posing for a picture. Hunter certainly wasn’t - their face was burning and they were doing their best to look anywhere else. They were sure they were going to die, maybe Harlequin too.

But to their surprise, Lofwyr laughed. “How entertaining. I’ve never seen Har'lea'quinn at a loss for words quite like that.” Harlequin frowned at that but remained silent. “In fact, I think I’ll let this little…” He dragged a hand across his cheek, wiping away the wine that was there, “…Incident slide.”

Hunter perked up. “Really?”

“No. You are paying for all of this, Mx. Low.”


End file.
